


Only We Didn't

by withoutwords



Category: Jongens | Boys (2014)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Fluffs and Cliches Ahoy, Future Fic, Happy Ending, M/M, time lapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6446641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They break up, the first time, at the foot of Marc’s stairs, with Neeltje’s cartoons jingling in the next room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only We Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> A short little something about moving through, moving on, moving forward.

They break up, the first time, at the foot of Marc’s stairs, with Neeltje’s cartoons jingling in the next room. It’s late November, the season’s turned, and Sieg has loved to see the way Marc’s cheeks flush with the cold (like they did when Sieg was fumbling with his buttons). 

Marc says, “Just – don’t come back, okay?” which is bad enough but then, “I can’t look at you,” hurts a lot worse.

Marc can’t look at him because he’s still all the things he’d promised not to be, still all the best and worst of it. A boyfriend that won’t invite Marc for tea, can’t bare to even be called that, _boyfriend_. Marc can’t look at him, and it’s fine. Sieg can’t even look at himself.

He tells Marc, “I love you, you know,” but it’s not how he’d planned it. It wasn’t supposed to be sad.

“I know,” Marc huffs with a smile, and it’s ugly, tongue caught in the gap of his teeth. “So what?”

It’s true. Marc had already said it, _I love you_ , and he’d been laughing, and he’d meant every sound, every letter. Sieg had felt like he’d fallen a hundred feet, like his toes had touched the bottom and he couldn’t breathe. _It’s okay_ , Marc had said, _you don’t have to_ – and Sieg didn’t, he couldn’t, but they kissed.

He’d wanted that to mean _I love you_ , he’d wanted it to mean, _you’re the best person I’ve ever known, the only person who makes me want to be better_. He wanted Marc to _taste_ it.

He didn’t say it, then, he doesn’t say it now, and when he leaves all he tastes are his tears.

*

They break up, the second time, the day before Marc graduates, with his battered running shoes at the foot of Seig’s bed. It’s joyous, really, Marc’s going to University – he’s getting out of this town, he’s going to _run_. They’re frantic, with the door locked shut, with their school bags on the floor to muffle the sound. They’re frantic, with Marc’s steady hand wrapped around their dicks and the weight, and the pull, and the heaving -

Sieg opens his mouth to breathe and Marc crashes his own down to bite; and it’s just enough, Sieg sobs.

“I want you to,” he says a little later, the two of them lying face to face. His finger presses at Marc’s bottom lip, and pulls it back. “I think you should - ”

The words don’t come, at first. Their legs tangle a little more, and Marc pulls Sieg in a little bit, and it feels like the night they got back together. The night Sieg invited Marc for tea, with Dad, gave Marc the only thing he ever wanted. Unconditional.

“You’re going away,” Sieg says, steeling himself, staring at the jut of Marc’s throat. “For a long time. You shouldn’t have to wait for me, that’s not - ”

“Sieg, don’t - ” Marc starts, digging his nails in, and Sieg wants to stop, wants to say, _you’re right, I’m an idiot, let’s make it work_. He just can’t. Marc taught him how to cast a fishing line, taught him how to play chords on his guitar. Marc put his arm around Sieg on the couch, in his parents’ house, pressed his mouth to Sieg’s temple in front of everyone.

He won’t stand in the way of someone else having that.

“Please – please just - ”

“No,” Marc says, angling his head in, resting it at Sieg’s collar. “No, no, no.”

Sieg doesn’t hear from him when he leaves.

*

They meet again, a few years later, when Sieg’s just getting used to the city, when he thought he’d handled all of its surprises. It’s school and work and training, and it’s okay, it’s what he’d always hoped it would be. Sieg’s good, which has been nice to hear over the years; but he’s finally proving it to himself. He’s good, and maybe he won’t make it all the way, to the top, but he’ll make it count.

He’ll be counted.

“Come meet some people,” a friend, Ines, says with Sieg’s collar in her fist and a drink sloshing around in the other. They knock shoulders and elbows and feet with people, squeezing through to a little table in the corner.

They’re all lovely, a little drunk, some older guy asking Sieg how he got so pretty. Sieg tells him, jokingly, “Hard work,” while he puts his nervous hands in his pockets. “Dedication.”

“He runs fast, too,” a voice says from his left, and when Sieg spins around there’s Marc.

Sieg thinks he’s a little taller, maybe and his skin’s a little more sun kissed than before. He thinks that the smile’s a little different, that maybe the gap in his teeth has shrunk. (He remembers how it felt against his skin, just below his ear, and he thinks if he feels it again he’d definitely know for sure). Sieg thinks he’s been in love with him since he was sixteen years old, and so much has changed, but then nothing changed at all.

“What – where did you?”

“Conference,” Marc says with a shrug, and a smile, and Sieg has a million questions. How’s his mum, and dad, and Neeltje, and does his mum still send those bandanas? What’s he doing now, is he still at school, is he on a team, does he like it?

“Can we get a drink?” is all he asks right now, ignoring the jeering from the table. Marc’s eyes flicker over, but he’s grinning, scratching at his shoulder to evade it.

“I suppose you’re old enough for the hard stuff?”

“Yeah, for a while now,” Sieg says, because he’s in too much shock to joke back. The only thing that’s really changed is Sieg, is Sieg getting older and hopefully a little wiser and knowing that if there’s anything good in your life you should hold onto it with both hands. The rest doesn’t matter.

“Your friends don’t mind?”

“Take him, take him,” Ines calls from the table. “I’ve been trying to get rid of him for months.”

“But you haven’t?”

“No,” Sieg says, definitively. “No.”

They push their way back through to the bar, shoulder to shoulder, catching glimpses of each other as they go. Sieg feels the backs of their hands brush, their fingers, like they’re passing the baton, like they’re winning.

*

“Play me a song,” Sieg says, running Marc’s fingers over the bridge of his nose like his freckles are chords on a bar. He kisses the palm and Marc lets out a breath, the sheets twisting tighter around their legs. “A nice one.”

“I’ll need that back,” Marc tells him, but he sounds reluctant, he’s watching the way Sieg’s mouth moves. “Are you sure you want that?”

“Can I have it again later?”

“You can have it as long as you want.”

“Good.”

When Marc’s settled with his guitar, naked and unabashed and so beautiful Sieg has to reach out and touch him - he says, “It ‘s taking me a while to learn this one, so be kind,” and Sieg promises.

The best things take time, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, whilst writing this I discovered that 16 years olds in the Netherlands are allowed fermented alcohol like beer and wine, but anything distilled they have to wait until 18. The more you know!
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr.](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
